The day had been an ordeal for everyone. Corinne Hatcher glanced at the clock for what must have been at least the sixtieth time. All day, the children had whispered among themselves, their eyes constantly coming to rest, if only briefly, on Michelle Pendleton, then shifting guiltily elsewhere when they realized Miss Hatcher was watching them.
Corinne knew no more than anyone else. She had heard all the speculations. She had been called by several women the night before, all professing their desire to be sure their children’s teacher knew “the truth,” all eager to tell her that they hoped she would “see to it” that Michelle Pendleton was “separated” from the class immediately. Finally, in desperation, she had called Josiah Carson for the true story of what had happened, then left her phone off the hook.
And now, as three o’clock approached, she was still trying to decide whether or not to mention Susan Peterson. But as the last few minutes of the school day ticked slowly away, she knew she would not — there just wasn’t anything she could tell them, and there was certainly nothing she wanted to tell them with Michelle Pendleton present.
Michelle.
Michelle had arrived that morning, as every morning recently, just in time to slip unobtrusively into her seat at the back of the room. Of all the children, she seemed to be the only one capable of concentrating on her lessons: while the others exchanged glances and whispers, Michelle sat calmly — was it stoically? — at the back of the room, as if unaware of what was going on around her. Michelle’s reaction to the situation had set the example for her own. If Michelle could act as though nothing had happened, so could she. God knows, she rationalized to herself, it won’t make any difference to Susan, and maybe, if I ignore the situation, the children will too.
Corinne heaved a silent sigh of relief as the final bell rang, and sank into her chair to watch the children scurry out into the hall None of them, she noticed, spoke to Michelle, although she thought she saw Sally Carstairs pause for a second, hesitate as though she was going to say something, then change her mind and leave with Jeff Benson.
When no one was left in the room but the two of them, Corinne smiled at Michelle.
“Well,” she said as brightly as she could. “How was your day?” If Michelle wanted to talk about it, Corinne had given her the opportunity. But Michelle didn’t want to talk.
“All right,” she replied, her voice listless. She had gotten to her feet and was gathering her books. Just before she started out of the room, she smiled briefly at Corinne. “See you tomorrow,” she said. And she was gone.
As she left the classroom, Michelle glanced down the corridor and, seeing Sally Carstairs and Jeff Benson talking together near the front door, turned the other way.
She emerged onto the back stairs and let herself relax for the first time that day: none of her classmates was in the schoolyard. Annie Whitmore was there, playing with her friends, but today they had given up their jump rope in favor of hopscotch. Michelle watched them for a moment and wondered if perhaps she could do it, jumping on her good leg. Maybe, after the children were gone, she’d try it.
She started down the stairs, intending to leave the schoolyard by the back gate, but as she passed the swings, one of the second grade boys called to her.
“Will you push me?”
Michelle stopped and looked at the little boy.
He was seven years old, and small for his age. He was perched on one of the swings, wistfully watching his friends as they pumped themselves back and forth. His problem was immediately obvious. His legs didn’t reach the ground, and he couldn’t get the swing started. He watched Michelle with large and trusting brown eyes, the eyes of a puppy.
“Please?” he begged.
Michelle set her bookbag on the ground and, with effort, took up a position behind the little boy. “What’s your name?” she asked as she gave him a little push.
“Billy Evans. I know who you are — you’re the girl who fell off the bluff. Did it hurt?”
“Not much. I got knocked out.”
Billy seemed to accept this as perfectly normal. “Oh,” he said. “Push me harder.”
Michelle pushed a little harder. Soon Billy was swinging happily, his little legs kicking out, his childish squeals echoing across the playground.
Sally Carstairs and Jeff Benson walked slowly down the front steps, reluctant to start home, prolonging their comfortable companionship. A bond had formed between them — nothing spoken, but something nevertheless there. If asked, neither of them could have explained it — indeed, neither of them would even have been likely to admit to it. Yet, as they reached the front yard, they lingered.
A car pulled up, and the two children watched as June Pendleton got out. Self-consciously, each of them muttered a faint hello as she passed them, but June didn’t seem to hear them. They watched her disappear into the school.
“I don’t think Michelle had anything to do with it,” Sally said suddenly. They had not been talking about Michelle or Susan, but Jeff knew immediately what she meant.
“My mother said she was there,” Jeff replied.
“But that doesn’t mean she did anything,” Sally countered.
“Well, she didn’t like Susan, that’s for sure.”
“Why should she have?” Sally demanded, the first touch of heat coming into her voice. “Susan was mean to her. From the first day of school, Susan was always mean to her.”
Jeff shuffled uncomfortably, knowing that what Sally said was true, but not wanting to agree with her.
“Well, all of us sort of went along with it.”
“I know. Maybe we shouldn’t have.”
Jeff looked at Sally sharply. “You mean if we hadn’t, Susan wouldn’t be dead now?”
“I didn’t say that!” But Sally silently wondered if that’s what she had meant. “Is it all right if I walk home with you?”
Jeff shrugged. “If you want to. But you’ll just have to walk back to town again.”
“That’s all right.” The two of them started along the sidewalk, then turned the corner onto the street that would take them past the playground. “Maybe I’ll go see Michelle,” Sally said tentatively.
Jeff stopped and looked at her.
“My mother says we shouldn’t have anything to do with her. She says it’s dangerous.”
“That’s silly,” Sally replied. “My parents told me I should be friends with her again.”
“I don’t see why. She can’t do anything anymore. If you ask me, her leg wasn’t the only thing she hurt when she fell. I think she must have landed on her head!”
“Jeff Benson, you stop that.” Sally cried. “That’s just the kind of thing Susan used to say. And look what happened to her!”
Now Jeff stopped, and his eyes fixed on Sally. “You
“Well, it’s all right if you do,” Jeff told her. “Everybody in town thinks she did something to Susan. Except, I guess nobody knows exactly what.”
They were near the playground now, and Sally suddenly felt a creepy sensation, as though she were being watched. When she turned around, she drew a sudden and involuntary breath: a few feet away, just inside the fence, Michelle stood, facing her, gently pushing a swing while Billy Evans laughed happily and begged to be pushed harder.
For a split second Sally’s eyes met Michelle’s. In that instant, she was sure that Michelle had heard what Jeff had said. There was a look in Michelle’s eyes, a look that frightened Sally. She reached out and took Jeff’s hand.
“Come on,” she said, her voice barely louder than a whisper.
Jeff frowned, then glanced around to see why Sally was suddenly whispering.
He saw Michelle staring at him.
His first impulse was to stare her down, and his eyes narrowed. But Michelle’s gaze never wavered, and her
